


breathe in, breathe deep

by soundofez



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: (Black Star/Nakatsukasa Tsubaki), (ish.. look blair is doing her best to keep everybody safe sane and consensual ok), (ish?), Anxiety Attacks, BDSM, Distrust, Dom Drop, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sensual Content, F/M, Light Bondage, Nonsexual Threesome - F/F/M, ResBang 2017, Rope Bondage, Sub Drop, and the compromised mental states associated with them, boundary-pushing, everybody is a wreck, hellish levels of miscommunication, internalized sex negativity, look there's gonna be a lot of cringe but i promise there's a light at the end of the ride, panic-induced bravery/brashness, potential for and recurring expectation of abuse of trust, rampaging bad decision dinosaur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-02 21:37:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13326858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundofez/pseuds/soundofez
Summary: Maka tsun-dares her way into being Soul’s sub. What she doesn’t seem to understand is that (good) doms are more than just kinky sexmasters, and that trust is the real reward in a sensual relationship.





	1. what is trust

**Author's Note:**

> I DON'T THINK I CAN ENTIRELY EXPRESS HOW MUCH I ADORE MY MOST AMAZING ARTIST PARTNER [@treeofjessie](http://treeofjessie.tumblr.com/)!! she has been absolutely integral in helping me make this fic as wholesome and clean and truthful as possible through all the cringe, and i am endlessly grateful for her constant support ;U;
> 
> also, once again, [@l0chn3ss](http://l0chn3ss.tumblr.com/) has been my beta tank. ness, how are you not sick of my shit yet. ness. ne s s. ~~thank you so fucking much dude you are a freaking goddess~~
> 
> Links: [[event tumblr](http://resbangmod.tumblr.com/)] [[ART!!!](http://treeofjessie.tumblr.com/post/169720926964/) (NSFW)] [[tumblr post](https://soundofez.tumblr.com/post/169719558073/)]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: internalized sex negativity, rampaging bad decision dinosaur, hellish levels of miscommunication, potential for and recurring expectation of abuse of trust, maka being a _stubborn judge-y brat_ , exhibitionism technically i think?
> 
> let the cringe begin \o/

Blair likes to flirt but hates to date. Soul doesn’t get it, but he respects it nevertheless, and so every day before today he’d blush or roll his eyes or scoff at her eye-batting.

Today, skittish, he flinches.

Blair, keen of eye and kind of heart in spite of all her teasing, catches the reaction. “All right, Soul?” she calls after him as he shuffles toward the stockroom.

“‘M fine,” he calls back.

He should probably explain, he thinks guiltily— but he doesn’t want to, and what his coworker doesn’t know won’t hurt her. He’ll get over it.

He still startles at his desk when, barely a minute later, she knocks on the stockroom doorframe.

“Woah, there,” Blair giggles as she approaches. “Someone’s jumpy today.”

“Hi, Blair,” he sighs, reaching for a stapled packet of receipts to hide his pounding heart while the old desktop boots up.

Blair crosses her arms. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

He does. “I _shouldn’t_ ,” he mumbles, abandoning the receipts and pressing his fingers over his face.

Blair bumps her hips against his shoulder. “What’d you do, have a wet dream?” she asks, playful, but Soul can’t help how his shoulders twitch up toward his ears. “You _did_.” She sounds criminally delighted, which is better than the disgust Soul had expected, and also considerably more confusing.

“It’s _creepy_ ,” Soul protests. “It’s creepy and invasive and— _blech_. You’re not….”

“Not into you,” Blair says cheerfully. “That hasn’t changed since we met, you’re too much of a kid for that. And too monogamous,” she adds.

“Not an object to be craved. I’m _sorry_.”

“You can’t control your dreams,” Blair says indulgently, ruffling his hair. Soul feels like he’s thirteen and his brother is forgiving him for improvising their duet during a performance. He also feels like he’s lying by omission, but if Blair doesn’t want details, he isn't about to drag out the conversation.

The bell at the storefront chimes tunelessly. Soul shrugs off Blair’s hand. “G-go handle the customers,” he grumbles, shoving the woman out the stockroom door to do her job.

The customers are newcomers. One is cautiously curious, but the other is furiously cautious and on high alert for unsavory shenaniganery. Maka Albarn is quick to draw conclusions and quicker to judge, and between Blair’s sizeable, half-buttoned bust and the low rumble she’d caught of Soul’s voice, she is less than pleased with the establishment she’s found herself in.

“How can I help you?” the _clearly_ unprofessional woman asks, straightening her fuzzy, violet, cat-eared headband.

Maka's friend, the cautiously curious Tsubaki, is shy but eager. “I’d like to try something on?”

The shopkeeper nods. “Something from the window? Or did you see something online?”

Tsubaki hesitates.

“You don’t have to,” Maka whispers to her. “It’s just a dumb punishment game.”

“It’ll be fun,” Tsubaki whispers back to Maka, and then, to the shopkeeper, “I don’t, ah… I don’t actually know.”

The cat-eared woman sidles around them to the counter, where she pulls out a sizable binder. “That’s okay! This is our catalog, if you want a look. Feel free to browse around and see what catches your eye as well, but some of our things aren’t on display…”

Tsubaki follows the shopkeeper, leaving Maka between a wall of dildos and a shelf of boxes that is either more sex toys or… she isn’t sure what else they could be, actually, so she stops thinking about it. She casts a glance around the shop, belatedly realizes that the screen at the far end of the aisle is proudly playing a squishy-looking video of vagina and _vagina_ , and gives up on browsing to instead retreat to the front counter where Tsubaki and the shopkeeper are chatting over the catalog.

“The kunoichi, hm?” the shopkeeper is saying. “I’m not sure if we have the full set for your measurements, but I’m sure we can put something together.”

“Oh, I can keep looking…”

“Don’t look too hard— our stockroom manager loves a challenge.” The shopkeeper walks toward the door Maka first saw her come from. “No stealing,” the shopkeeper adds before vanishing into what is apparently the stockroom.

“... Is she the friend you mentioned?” Maka asks Tsubaki.

Tsubaki shakes her head no. “She’s really nice, though, isn’t she?”

Maka hums neutrally, looking over the catalog. “These are actually kind of cute,” she says, surprised and more than a little relieved after her vagina-tastic glimpse down the aisle earlier.

Tsubaki beams. “Right? You should pick one, too.”

“ _No way._ ”

“Aww, why not? No one would even have to know it came from here!”

Maka’s eyes hover over a modest-looking schoolgirl uniform. “... I’ll think about it.”

Tsubaki smiles her knowing smile as the shopkeeper bustles out of the stockroom, brandishing a stack of boxes. “I’m baaaack!” she declares. “Try these. Soul had to work off of my guesstimates, so these might be a little bit off, but I can always go grab more.”

Tsubaki brightens at the name. “Soul? Soul Evans?”

The woman deposits her boxes on the counter and sets about unstacking them. “Hm? Is he a friend?”

“He’s my boyfriend’s roommate.” Tsubaki nudges Maka. “You’ve met, right? You live next to them.”

Maka dimly recalls spiky, bleached hair and disembodied grumbles from beyond a thin wall, and feels vaguely disgruntled. “We’ve never been introduced. I didn’t know he had a job like this,” she says.

Tsubaki must hear some of Maka’s displeasure, because she rushes to excuse the man. “He’s private about it,” she says, “I only know because of Star.” She turns back to the shopkeeper. “Oh, then you must be Blair!”

Blair chuckles. “Soul sticks to inventory. He’s the reason for this, actually—” (she gestures down at the catalog) “—and he maintains all of our equipment.”

“Ours, too,” Tsubaki admits.

“ _Equipment?_ ” Maka blurts over her friend.

Blair winks. “If you want to talk shop, he’d be able to talk about the features much better than I can. Wouldn’t say no to a little demonstration, either, I don’t think.”

“ **No** , no, _no, thank you_ ,” Maka exclaims.

Blair smiles, and her eyes narrow slyly with the expression, but instead of pushing the thread, she turns back to Tsubaki. “Did you want to chat with him for a bit? He keeps to the back so he doesn’t make anyone uncomfortable, but since you know him….”

“Not when I’m working,” a voice drawls from the stockroom.

“Lighten up, Soul,” Blair calls back.

Soul pokes his head out. (Maka wonders what he and Blair were doing to have mussed his hair so dramatically.) “ _You_ ,” he says sourly to Blair, “have never witnessed her and her boyfriend.”

Tsubaki flushes. “ _That was Black Star._ ”

Drooping eyes glare at her. “Black Star started the touchy shit. _You_ escalated. _Both of you knew I was in the fucking room._ ”

“Y-you weren’t supposed to find out,” Tsubaki mumbles, abashed.

“Yeah, well, next time, find someone who doesn’t mind being your _voyeur_ when you decide to play sexy-chicken behind their back.”

Maka decides that she’s learned more than she ever needed to know about her best friend’s sex life. “How long have you two been together?” she asks Soul.

Soul twitches and stares at Maka blankly. “What?”

Maka looks to Blair, who bursts into laughter, but it’s Tsubaki who answers. “They’re not dating.”

“Scythe boy refuses to even think of it,” Blair says, still giggling. “Should’ve seen him when he came in this morning, all flustered because of a little wet dream—”

“That is _private_ ,” Soul growls, and retreats back into the stockroom like a grumpy cat.

Maka burns with questions, but Blair looks abashed as she turns to Tsubaki. “The kunoichi outfit,” she says apologetically, and they start picking through the boxes. Only after Tsubaki’s arms are full of costume does Blair turns to Maka. “You’re sure you don’t want to try anything on, kitten?” she asks.

“ _Extremely._ ”

Blair hums. “Well, if you change your mind, Soul will be more than happy to help.”

Maka looks blankly from Blair to the stockroom door and back.

Blair giggles and leans closer. “Don’t let his tough act fool you, he’s a marshmallow on the inside,” she whispers, and then to Tsubaki, “Here, let’s go to the changing room.”

“Yes ma’am,” Tsubaki says with a cheery salute.

Maka sinks back against the counter. “I’ll wait here?”

“Sure,” Blair says. “Feel free to look over the catalog.” And, with a wink, she whisks Tsubaki away.

Maka flips obediently through the catalog, but she finds herself returning again and again to the schoolgirl uniform. Maybe she’ll ask Blair after all… but as the minutes tick by, it’s harder and harder to ignore the gasping and groaning coming from the TV at the end of the aisle.

She sighs and wanders vaguely in the direction of the stockroom, dithering between asking Soul, who is probably not busy, and Blair, who definitely is, if the laughter escaping the changing room is any indication. Even though she dislikes Blair, she definitely doesn’t want to approach Soul, so she pokes her head into the changing room.

Someone at the end of the room catches her eye. It takes her a moment to realize that it’s herself, reflected in a full-length mirror.

The curtains nearest her part to one side, and Blair peers out from them, smiling mischievously. “Hello, kitten! Joining the fun?”

Something about the invitation sounds intimidatingly sexual. Maka winces. “No, uh, maybe? I can— I can ask Soul?”

Blair nods agreeably, still beaming. “Stockroom’s right behind you.” And she disappears back behind the curtain once more.

Maka backs meekly out of the room and turns around to face the stockroom door. When she taps the door, though, there’s no response. “Hello?” she calls, opening the door, and is greeted by the sight of Soul rubbing his face into into a leather set of lingerie. “ **Gross** ,” she blurts.

Soul looks up. “Oh, he— hello. C-can I help you?”

“What were you _doing_?” Maka demands.

He looks confused. “Inventory?”

She gestures at the leather in his hands. “You had your face in that thing,” she accuses.

He looks back down. “Oh. OH.” He has the decency to blush. “D-did it look that bad?”

Maka stares at him, trying to decide if she wants to be civil with a man she just caught jerking off in the stockroom of a sex boutique.

He shifts uncomfortably. “Wh-what did you come back here for? Can I help you find something?”

Maka backs slowly out of the room. “I… I was going to ask for an outfit,” she admits reluctantly, “but I don’t need anything. I don’t think you stock anything in my size, anyway.”

Soul looks over her. It’s a cursory glance at best. “We’ve got plenty, actually.”

Maka feels unreasonably offended. “Really.”

“Sure. What outfit?”

He sounds so _disinterested_ about the whole thing. Maka wonders unkindly if he’d be drooling over Tsubaki or Blair if either of them had asked for help.

“... Wh-what outfit?” Soul repeats, jostling Maka out of her spiteful thoughts.

“S-school uniform,” she admits, and then feels stupid. She’s in a sex shop! She should be going for the _sexy_ things, not the cutesy ones—

“Cute,” Soul says (absently, as though he’s only half paying attention, and Maka seethes unreasonably) as he disappears around a corner. “You a little?”

“A what?”

Soul doesn’t answer immediately, but he does poke his head around the corner to squint at her. “You’re pretty small, aren’t you…? Hang on…” And he disappears again.

Maka wonders if she should just back out of the stockroom and leave Soul to... whatever she’d caught him doing, but just as she decides to leave, he’s back, a canvas bag swinging from prominent knuckles.

“Had to eyeball it, but these should fit decently well,” he says, shoving the bag at her without meeting her eyes.

Maka nearly drops the bag. “You haven’t breathed into _these_ , have you?” she snipes, annoyed.

A blush burns across his face, even reaching his ears. (Maka wonders how far it goes down his chest, and then mentally kicks herself for having that thought.) “Wha—? **No** ,” he blurts. “No, no _way_. I wasn't—”

“Suspicious,” Maka mutters.

He grimaces and extends one hand to take the bag back. “I-if you don’t want them—“

Maka clutches the bag to her chest. “I didn’t say that.”

Soul slowly lowers his hand. “Okay.”

“Okay.” She doesn’t move.

He fidgets. His flush still lingers on his cheeks. “Are you— gonna go or what?” he finally asks. “If you have trouble— with the outfit— you can ask Blair to help—”

“She’s helping Tsubaki right now.”

“— s-so can you just not _b-be here_ — ergh.”

They’re at a standoff again, staring at each other in horribly awkward silence. Soul wishes desperately for Blair to swoop in and save him— she’s always been better at handling customers— but after a few more painful seconds, it’s clear that Soul is on his own.

He tries again. “L-look, I have work, I need to maintain some of our equipment,” he begins, and the woman interrupts him.

“Is that a euphemism?” she asks, and Soul doesn’t think he imagines the disgust in her voice, but he’s caught off-guard by it anyway.

“Wh-what?” he blurts, his brain scrambling to catch up. “I— _no_ , that— w-we have a dungeon room, we—”

“A dungeon room.”

“Y-yeah, for BDSM, b-but usually it’s our changing room, we have it set up with a bunch of curtains—”

“ _You let people have sex in the changing room?_ ”

“Not s-sex, BDSM,” Soul says, remembering belatedly that BDSM is usually associated with sex. “We don’t— p-prostitution isn’t even _legal_ —”

“So you’re, what. A pimp?”

“ **No** , no, I don’t do any of that— B-Blair and Marie handle it— and I’d be a d-dom, not a pimp, if I were anything, I guess.”

Maka laughs at the image of this shrinking, stuttering man dominating anyone. “A _dom_?”

The questions and thinly-veiled scorn was one thing, but something about her disbelief stings Soul’s pride, even if she’s clearly judging based on the worst kinds of stereotypes. “Y-yeah, a dom,” he says, crossing his arms. “Believe it or don’t, it’s not like I can prove it or anything—”

“Why not?” she asks, before her brain can catch up with her mouth.

“Why no— do you _want_ me to dom you?” Soul demands.

“Do _you_ want to dom me?” Maka retorts, fully expecting a no—

“That’s not an answer,” Soul grumbles, running one hand through his hair (and oh, that’s probably why it’s so disheveled).

“Neither is that,” Maka point out.

“... I wouldn’t say no,” he admits, “but ideally I’d have a partner who—” ( _is better endowed,_ Maka supplies bitterly) “—knows what they’re getting into.” (Shock. He’s not shallow, Maka realizes grudgingly— or at least, he’s not admitting it.)

“So, yes.”

“... _Now?_ ”

“Why not?”

Soul stares at her, his mind racing to make sense of her words. “I— I’m on the clock, I can’t just— _stop_ for you— _I just got here, even._ ”

“So?”

“So I have _work_ —” He cuts himself off, closing his eyes. “O-okay, fine. Shop closes in four and a half hours. Come back then and I’ll… do it.”

“I’ll be here,” Maka says immediately. “You won’t have locked up?”

Soul opens his eyes and stares at her wearily, willing for her to turn around and _leave already_. “I’ll tell Blair you might drop back in—”

“I’ll be here,” Maka repeats stubbornly.

“Okay, okay, I’ll tell Blair to let you in, but if I don’t see you I’m going home, okay?”

Maka nods sharply. “See you in four and a half hours,” she says, and finally, _finally_ turns to leave.

Soul waits for the door to click shut before he sags against the nearest shelf and hopes vehemently that he’ll never see that ornery woman again.

Tsubaki and Blair are back at the register when Maka emerges, still clutching the bag Soul had given her.

“Find something good?” Blair asks, beaming. “You didn’t terrorize Soul too much, did you?”

Maka looks down at the bag in her arms. “I-I—”

“What’d you get?” Tsubaki asks.

Blair reaches for it, and Maka hands it over wordlessly. “Oh, cute,” Blair coos, and rings the outfit up.

* * *

Tsubaki and Black Star have always been shamelessly affectionate, but after what Maka had heard at the shop, she's a little more eager to excuse herself than she might have been a week ago.

She’s only more eager after Tsubaki pulls up the punishment pictures.

“I’m gonna go study,” Maka announces, standing up.

Tsubaki looks up at her. “Aww, already?”

“Yeah, I have a quiz coming up,” she lies, patting her pockets to make sure has her keys as she heads for the door.

“Nerd,” Black Star teases, but he’s already buried his face in Tsubaki’s shoulder, and his hands—

“Perv,” Maka fires back, and nearly slams the apartment door behind her.

Instead of returning to her apartment next door, though, she heads to the parking lot and starts her car. The following half-hour drive back to Stein & Marie’s: Sex & More is long and quiet without Tsubaki to help soothe Maka's buzzing nerves.

What is she _doing_?

Her eyes flick to the black paper bag sitting innocently in the passenger seat. It still holds the outfit Maka had bought four hours ago. Of course! She’s returning it, that’s all, she reasons to herself. As nice as it had looked in the catalog, she’s not really comfortable wearing it around. Actually, she hasn’t even tried it on— for all she knows, they’re the wrong size.

Blair is still at the register when Maka walks in. “You’re back!” the woman chirps happily. “Was something wrong with the clothes you bought?” she adds, glancing at the bag hanging from Maka’s hand.

“S-Soul didn’t tell you to expect me?” Maka blurts.

Blair tilts her head. “He didn’t mention anything. I can grab him, he’s almost off the clock anyway—”

“N-no, that’s not— I just wanted to return—” _He didn’t mention anything?_ Maybe he thought she wouldn’t come back. But she’d said she would! Did he think she’d be scared off with a little bit of time?

_He’s underestimating her._

“— Actually, yes,” she decides, grinning viciously at Blair. “He’s domming me, or he’s supposed to, and he told me to come in when he got off work, so here I am.”

Blair looks surprised. “Head on back, then,” she says slowly. “And, kitten? Be gentle with him.”

Be gentle? With _him_? Did the woman mishear her? “O-okay,” Maka says, striding determinedly to the stockroom.

Soul jumps when the door bangs open. “Blair? What happened— _What are you doing here._ ”

Maka looks at him, unimpressed. “I said I’d be back, so here I am.”

Soul glances at the clock over the door. “I’m not off for another—”

“You can clock out early,” she says flatly. She sounds _pissed_.

“D-don’t tell me how to do my job,” he snaps, anxious and uncomfortable and _why is she here?_ “J-just— chill out until the shop closes or something.”

She strides toward him; he backs away. “Are you really a dom?” she demands, irritated. “You said you’d do it, so _fucking do it._ ”

“ _That’s not how it works,_ ” Soul hisses. His eyes drop to the bag hanging from her hand. “You just came back to return the clothes, right?”

Maka burns. “N-no, I thought— I thought you’d have a use for them,” she lies.

Soul doesn’t have a particular penchant for schoolgirl roleplay, but he sees a chance to get her out of his hair and clutches at it with desperation. “F-fine, then go change into them and _wait there_.”

Maka sneers. “And let you sneak out like a coward? Yeah, right.”

 _If only._ “I need to clear the changing room anyway, Blair has a session tomorrow morning,” Soul tells her. “Just— give me a bit, okay? _Please._ ”

Something inside Maka recognizes the panic in Soul's voice, and she is filled with a smug sense of power as she relents. “Fine, but Blair knows I’m here, so don’t even try to escape,” she declares, and storms back out of the room.

Soul stares after her, bewildered and more than a little panicky. Why is she _back_? “What kind of tsundere bullshit,” he whispers aloud to himself, closing his eyes. _Something quick,_ he thinks, _that doesn’t need too much set-up—_ what was the last thing he maintained—? Actually, why is he even thinking about it? If he stalls long enough, maybe she’ll get bored and leave. Then again, she wasn’t supposed to come back, so she’ll probably just get more pissed off the longer she’s there….

He rushes through the last of inventory, taking a moment to mark the equipment he’ll be using before he digs through the rentables and slings a camera bag over his shoulder. _Be assertive,_ he tells himself. _Don’t let her get to you. You’re the one who knows the rules. You have to be the guide._ He takes out the camera to check the batteries, film pack, and charge, the motions practiced and automatic and grounding.

Maka changes quickly, half-expecting Soul to burst in and rip open the curtain at any moment, but he doesn’t. She ends up sitting on a little wooden chair facing the entrance of the room, her back to the mirror-wall behind her, her legs stretched out in front of her while she waits.

He doesn’t show up. Maka checks her phone impatiently, only to find that the shop still _technically_ hasn’t closed yet, and grudgingly gives him until the end of the hour to show before she goes looking for him.

She’s in the middle of a reading for one of her classes when the door opens and Soul steps through.

“One sec,” she says absently.

“No,” Soul says, and her eyes snap up to him, surprised, as he continues. “We need to talk rules.”

Maka locks her phone and tucks it into her skirt pocket. “Sure,” she says, standing up. “If I quit, you win.”

“ **No** ,” Soul snaps, alarmed. “No, that is the opposite of the correct way to do this thing— if I make you uncomfortable, you stop. At any time. Whenever you need.”

Maka blinks. “But I could walk away _now_.”

Soul nods sharply. “Yes.”

He seems relieved at the idea. Maka scowls. “Like I’d let you win so easily.”

Soul runs a hand through his hair, which spikes up under it. “ _It’s not about winning._ ”

Maka eyes him skeptically. “Whatever you say, Soul the dom.”

“ _Don’t call me that._ ”

Maka smirks, daring him to fight her. He may be bigger than her physically, but she has been a judo student since age ten, and she is more than ready to defend herself. “Sure, sure.”

She’s too dismissive. Soul makes a noise of frustration. “I don’t have to do this, you know. If you’re not willing to hear me out, you’re not gonna get the right experience.” (She needs to _trust him_ , he wants to say, but he knows how worthless those words are.) (He has to show her, he knows. He hasn’t yet realized how impossible that’s going to be.)

Maka is mentally scoffing at the idea of this experience being ‘right,’ even as she verbally acquiesces. “Fine.”

“Fine, _Soul_.”

She lifts a skeptical eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Rules. Always call me Soul, Master, or Sir.”

“Sure, Master Soul, sir.” She snorts after she says it, but Soul remains stone-faced.

“Blair is still in the shop, so you’re not here alone with me,” Soul informs her.

Maka blinks. “Okay?”

“Okay, _Soul_.”

Maka rolls her eyes. “Okay, _Master Soul, sir_. Why did you tell me that?”

Soul turns away and grabs one edge of a curtain, pushing it along its rail and bundling it together. Once he gets to the wall, he ties the curtain back with a rope hanging from a nail in the wall that Maka hadn’t noticed before. “To let you know that even if you don’t feel safe with _me_ , you have a way out.” He reaches for his camera bag as he turns to face her. “Here’s the deal,” Soul says, and pulls out the camera. “You pose where I tell you to, how I tell you to, and I take pictures.”

“... That’s it?”

Soul stares silently at her. (Patiently.)

“That’s it, _Soul_?”

He grins. (He hopes that his failing confidence doesn’t turn it into a grimace.) (Maka doesn’t know the difference.) “That’s it,” he says breezily.

Maka frowns at him, trying to find a catch. “You’re not even gonna touch me?” she asks, forcing a challenge into the question. “Soul?” she adds.

“Don’t need to,” Soul replies.

“... What‘ll happen to the photos? Soul?”

Soul nods (approvingly). “May I?” he asks, holding up the camera, and Maka nods back after a moment of hesitation. There’s a click and a flash, and then the whirring sound of a printing photo. “The camera is a polaroid; the photos will develop in real time. You can have them,” Soul tells her over the whirring of the machine. “Also, if at any point you decide you don’t like what I’m doing, you can leave.” He pauses as he pulls out the photo. “You can _leave_ ,” he repeats. “Just grab your bag and go.”

He’s expecting her to lose. Maka grits her teeth. “Let’s just start… _Soul_.”

Soul sighs and tucks the camera back into its bag. “Not until I finish setting up here. Sit tight, it won’t take long. Oh, and you can hang onto this.”

Maka takes the developing photo, sinks back onto the chair, and watches Soul put the curtains away in silence. He doesn’t talk to her even when he ties back the last one, though, instead walking to the mirror wall and pushing one of the panels aside.

“I didn’t know that was there,” Maka blurts.

Soul glances at her.

“... Um. I didn’t know that was there, Soul.” She wrinkles her nose. She doesn’t want to call him Master or Sir, names which would imply that he has power over her, but now his name sounds strangely intimate. She doesn’t like it.

“We keep maintenance supplies and the larger sets back here,” Soul explains. “It’s stuff we can rent out that’s too big to steal. Wanna look?”

Curiosity gets the better of her. Maka stands, brushes down her backside, and peeks around the sliding panel.

She can’t help but squeak in surprise. _Dungeon,_ Soul had called it, but she hadn’t really thought there would be such elaborate rigs. Was that a pillory? Were those steel rigs _torture devices_?

Soul deposits the camera bag on a shelf, grabs a broom and dustpan, and slips past her to sweep the floor of the room.

“You guys don’t have a janitor?” Maka asks.

Soul doesn’t answer.

“Soul?” she tries.

“We’re not big enough to really need a janitor, and there’s enough stuff that wouldn’t do great with regular cleaning supplies that it would probably be more inconvenient to have one,” Soul replies. “Also, Marie hates cleaner smell. Take off your shoes, please.”

He’s taking off his own sneakers as he speaks, and his socks, so Maka fumbles with her own footwear. “Uh, sure. Why—”

“Sure, _Soul_.”

“... I really have to say your name every time?” Maka grumbles.

“You don’t have to. You could just leave.”

He’s so _smug_. “Like hell am I letting you win,” Maka snaps. “S-Soul,” she adds.

He sighs. “I told you, it’s not about winning,” he mutters. “I still need to set up the pole, so wait a little longer, okay?”

Maka frowns. “You’re making me wait a lot. Soul.”

Soul shrugs. “ _I_ told you to come after we locked shop. _You’re_ the one who showed up early.” He disappears back across the mirror wall.

Maka sits back down. After a moment, she pulls out her phone.

“I didn’t say you could do that,” Soul says, walking back into view carrying a long box.

Maka jumps. “S-seriously? Soul?”

He deposits the box in the center of the room. “Seriously,” he says, sitting beside the box and looking up at her. “I should punish you for that.” Maka clutches her phone to her chest and crosses her legs. (Inspiration strikes.) “Hey, are you still wearing your panties?”

“What— _of course I am._ Pervert.”

Soul lifts a brow.

“I mean. S-Soul.”

He nods. “Take ’em off.”

She scowls. “Or what? Soul?”

He shrugs. “Or, you know, grab your shit and leave.”

She’s starting to hate the word ‘leave.’ “I’ll do it,” she snaps. “I’ll do it, just don’t look. Soul.”

She’s gratified by his surprise, but she’s surprised as well when he picks himself off the floor and heads toward the door. “Wha— where are you going? Soul?”

“I’m letting you change,” he replies, glancing back at her. “Unless you want me to look after all?”

“I-I wouldn’t be able to stop you from peeking, if you left,” she grumbles.

Soul rolls his eyes. “What should I do, then?” he asks.

Maka blinks at him, surprised. “U-um. Just. Face the door, I guess? A-and keep your hands over your eyes, so I can tell if you turn around. S-Soul.”

“Okay.” And he turns away once more, hands already over his face.

Maka drops her phone back into her skirt pocket, grabs the bag, and creeps up behind Soul, close enough that she can throw him if he decides to peek. Then, with her eyes fixed on his bowed spine, she hitches up the sides of the skirt and tugs her panties down. In two swift motions, her legs are up and out: she deposits the underwear into the bag, stuffing them down the side in case he looks for them.

(Soul can hear her walking toward him, her bare feet slapping quietly against the tile, and wonders what she’s thinking, but he waits for her to speak—)

“I did it,” she announces.

He turns around to face her. (She’s _small_ , he notices suddenly.) “Why’d you get so close?” he asks. (He tries not to blush. His cheeks burn anyway.)

“N-no reason. Soul.”

He lets her back away. “Be patient,” he tells her, and turns back to the box he’d brought from the room. Maka, having nothing better to do (what if he told her to take off something else?), watches Soul remove two poles from the box, talking quietly the whole time.

“We don’t use the pole very often, so we take it down between uses. We— well, _I_ keep the base installed because I’m lazy, but I still check to make sure it’s properly installed every time it’s set up,” Soul says, inspecting the flared base of one of the poles. Apparently satisfied, he slots the other end of it into the second pole and tightens them with a hex key, alternating between two key holes. “I’m going to need your help with this next part,” he adds, standing up. “Usually I get Blair to help out, but since you’re here, can you hold this? Don’t tilt it all the way up yet.”

He hoists the pole partially upright. Maka steps forward to take it, acutely aware of how her bare crotch feels under her skirt. Their hands do not touch, even when Soul pulls cautiously away. “You got it?” he asks.

“Yes. Soul,” she adds hurriedly.

He nods. “Let me get the top unit on, and then we can get it vertical.” And he does, and they do. “Keep holding the base,” Soul murmurs, and when Maka looks up, he’s rotating the top half of the pole. “Okay. You can let go, now.”

Maka does that, backing away opposite Soul, whose eyes are fixed on the pole. He fiddles with it a little more before grasping it with both hands and spinning carefully around it. Then, in one swift, practiced motion, he wraps his hands and arms around the pole, and hoists himself up so that his body is horizontal to the floor.

Maka stares. His legs aren’t perfectly straight, but Maka knows from the calm focus on Soul’s face that the position is a difficult one.

He swings back to vertical and steps away from the pole again, apparently satisfied. “You pole dance?” Maka blurts.

Soul drops his eyes to her and stares patiently. It takes her a moment to realize why. “S-Soul?” she asks, belatedly.

“Yeah?”

“You pole dance?... Soul?”

He shrugs. “Blair does. She taught me a bit, so I could maintain the pole on my own.” He picks up the box the pole had come in and disappears behind the mirror once more. When he reappears, the camera bag is slung across his shoulder once more, and the camera is already in his hands. “All right. You took your shoes and socks off already, right? Good. Bring the bag,” he adds, shoving the box toward the mirror wall. “It’ll be a good accessory.”

Maka looks down at her bag, dazed. She’s stepped up to the pole by the time she remembers that he wants her to back out, wants her to _lose_ , so of course he’s making it as easy as he can to do that.

_He’s still underestimating her._

“Put your arms behind your back, like this,” Soul says, turning to one side to demonstrate, and Maka mimics him, putting her hands to her elbows so that her forearms are parallel to the ground. The paper bag bumps against her hip.

Soul is nodding as he takes out the camera. “Good. Now turn around.”

Maka obliges, but cranes her neck to watch him. ( _Still suspicious._ But that’s fine— Soul would have asked her to look at him if she hadn’t.)

He lifts the camera to his eye. “Don’t look so hostile, geez.”

“Sorry for not relaxing in front of a _pervert_ ,” she snips. “Soul.”

Soul sighs. “Don’t be hypocritical. You’re listening to this p-‘pervert,’ aren’t you?”

She doesn’t say anything.

“This is one of the most basic poses for bondage,” Soul says casually. “The ropes, or belts, or whatever restraint, would go over your forearms and lock them together.”

“So you’re gonna tie me up? Soul?”

Soul shrugs. “Can’t do that without touching you, and I promised, didn’t I?”

“You said you didn’t _need_ to. Soul.”

“Yeah. Promised.” He snaps a picture and waits patiently for it to print. “Are you imagining it, though?”

“Imagining what? Soul?”

Soul sets the picture on the floor to develop. “Being tied up.”

Maka lifts a brow at him. “What about it?”

Soul hums instead of answering. “Can you try leaning against the pole?”

The sudden directions catch her off guard. Maka blinks owlishly at the pole in front of her.

“Keep your arms where they are, but try resting the pole between your shoulder and neck. Turn your head back toward me— yeah. Arch your back? Good.” He lifts the camera again. “You wouldn’t be able to use your arms if they were tied up, you know. You’d be… not quite helpless, since you could still shout and run for Blair, but defenseless, maybe?”

For some reason, Blair’s name irritates Maka. “And you get off on having a defenseless girl at your feet, Soul?” she sneers.

“I’d get off on someone trusting me enough to let me see them like that,” Soul replies. “It’s scary, isn’t it? To be at someone’s mercy like that.”

Maka is seized by a sudden vision of herself, immobilized and helpless while Soul looms over her, and she shivers. “How could anyone _do_ that? S-Soul?”

“Because it feels _nice_.” He sounds wistful, now, and Maka wonders if maybe he’s more submissive than he is dominant. “To trust someone so completely… to do all that, be so vulnerable, but to do it anyway because you know— because you _trust that they are safe_.”

The shutter snaps loudly, and Maka feels abruptly self-conscious. “This is stupid,” she blurts.

His answer is delayed as he sets the second photo next to the first. “No one’s making you stick around. Wanna look?” he adds, holding the first photo out to her. “You can put it in your bag,” he says.

Maka takes it with a glance that turns into a stare. The woman in the picture isn’t _her_ , is it? But Maka isn’t shy or scared or _sexy_ ….

“It came out well, didn’t it?”

Maka jumps and looks up at Soul, who has just finished tucking the second photo into its pocket. “You’re not _doing_ anything,” she accuses, disbelieving. “S-Soul.”

He sighs. “Lean against the pole again.”

She complies slowly, silent, staring at him all the while. _Not scared,_ she reminds herself. She isn’t tied up and helpless. She can defend herself. The instant Soul touches her, she’ll have him on the ground writhing in pain. She is _not scared_. (So why is her heart pounding?)

Soul watches her settle into the pose before giving the next order: “Lift your skirt.”

“What? **No.** ”

“... N-not all of it!” He draws a line up the outside of his own thigh with a long finger. “Up to your hip bone, ish.”

She mirrors his gesture, but more slowly, drawing fabric up and up… she pauses when she feels cooler air on her very bare crotch. The raised hem of the skirt is only halfway up her thigh.

“Higher.”

“You’ll see it!” she hisses.

“No, I won’t. Higher.” He’s strangely calm, so much so that Maka believes him and instinctively lifts her skirt a little more before the cool air reminds her why she stopped.

Soul is inexorable. “Higher.” She makes no move to obey. “Are you done, then?”

Her pride flares. “No, Sir,” she snaps, and jerks the skirt up to her hip unthinkingly.

She regrets it when he lifts the camera once more, but he’s silent as he snaps the picture, and she drops the skirt immediately.

They spend the next few seconds in agonizing silence. Soul checks on the second photo and must decide that it’s developed enough, because he hands it to Maka. Maka doesn’t want to take it, but she definitely doesn’t want him to have pictures of her, so she snatches it from him and stuffs it into her bag without looking at it.

“Not gonna look?” Soul asks. (He's disappointed: he wants her to see how _painfully vulnerable_ she looks, wants her to be overwhelmed, to tell him _no, I’m done_ and walk away forever.) “It’s better than the first one, you know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Maka snaps.

Soul looks patiently at her.

“... What’s that supposed to mean, _Soul_?”

“You look sexier,” he says, and winces at himself belatedly.

“I’ll look later,” Maka lies.

Soul shrugs. “Whatever you say.” He sets the third photograph on the floor and stares at it, wondering what he can do to make her give up. “Sit on the floor, legs in front, knees to your chest.”

“You’ll see it!” Maka protests.

“I can’t see anything while I’m still standing,” Soul tells her, but he keeps his eyes fixed on the developing photo. “Do what you want with the skirt and the bag, but do as I told you.”

Maka stares at him.

“If you understand, tell me,” Soul reminds quietly. “Sit, and put your knees to your chest, and tell me when you’re ready for the picture. Or… _go._ ”

 _She won’t lose to him._ Maka presses the small of her back to the pole and slowly lowers herself to the floor. “If you peek, I’ll kill you,” she hisses, unable to restrain herself.

“I don’t want to see anything,” he replies evenly, and Maka burns with embarrassment. “You haven’t been addressing me—”

“Why don’t you want to see anything?” she snaps. “Aren’t you a man? Am I not woman enough for you? Are you _gay_?”

Soul is silent for a long moment. Maka sits, and stuffs her skirt between her legs to hide from the camera, and tucks the bag under her legs for good measure.

“I don’t want to look because you don’t want me to look,” he says, finally. “It has nothing to do with being a man, or you being a woman, or _who I’m attracted to_ or whatever. It has to do with not being a piece of shit.”

The camera flashes. Maka flinches.

“I don’t care about your looks either way. Hell, I’m only here because _you’re_ here. If you want to feel sexy….” He hands her the third photograph. “That’s up to you. Do you understand, Maka?”

Maka looks at the picture. It’s that woman, again, the one she can’t believe is her: shy and blushing as she stares at the camera, but bold and flirty and sexy with one hand pulling her skirt to her hip, but if Soul had seen anything he shouldn’t have with this shot, the camera doesn’t show it.

She looks up at Soul, who is sitting beside his fourth photograph and watching her, expressionless. “Do you understand, miss?” he repeats.

Yes? No. Maybe? She’s too confused to know.

“ _Do you understand?_ ”

“I-I don’t know, Sir,” she whispers.

He’s silent again, gears turning in his head. (She’ll stop now, surely, _surely_ with this next pose, the most intimate and vulnerable of any yet.) “If you understand, roll onto your elbows and knees and look back at me and tell me, ‘Yes, Soul.’”

Maka doesn’t move for a long time. The longer she sits there, staring at the photo of herself, the more hope Soul has that he’s finally gotten through her _thick skull_ that _she doesn’t have to be here_ — but then she puts the photo in her bag and _obeys_.

As she raises her ass, she turns back to look at him. Her calves spring from the hem of the skirt like the invitations they aren’t, and her mouth is hidden by a pigtail, and Soul feels abruptly like he’s been punched in the gut.

Maka catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror wall behind Soul, and even now she barely recognizes herself. She’s never felt like this before, sexy and powerful and _completely in control_ — hadn’t he said it himself? That she looked sexier in the second picture, the one she hasn’t even looked at? And these poses— isn’t he trying to inch her more and more toward having sex with him? But he doesn’t know how much power she has, doesn’t know how eager she is to tear him apart the instant he lays a finger on her.

“Yes, Soul,” she whispers, and from the way he stares, she doesn’t expect to have to wait long. The silence stretches and stretches, and Maka’s nerves wear thin with anticipation—

And then, at last, an agonized whisper. “ _I can’t._ ”


	2. baby don't hurt me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: ANXIETY ATTACK WHeeEeeEEe, more of maka being a stubborn judge-y brat, miscommunication central, Maka Is A Terrible Domme, (no like actually terrible don't DO this shit), nonsexual threesome ishhhh?, i hate pacing, POV whiplash is re a l, drops for everyone except blair, blair is the only sane person here
> 
> (can you tell that i love blair a lot)

“ _I can’t._ ”

She stares at him. Can’t what? He _has_ her, she is vulnerable and so very nearly exposed, so what can’t he do?

Soul puts the camera down and scoots away from her and drops his head between his knees. “I _can’t_ ,” he repeats, more loudly, and Maka snaps out of her daze and scrambles out of the pose and burns with embarrassment. Who is she kidding? She isn’t sexy. She is physically incapable of being sexy.

Soul closes his eyes. His head is spinning. Where had this violent desire come from? He’s never wanted anyone like this, never wanted so _badly_.

Her voice cuts through the confusion. “I win.”

He can’t make sense of her words. What is she winning? And then her dare comes back to mind, and Soul’s gut boils furiously. “You don’t— what, did you think this was just a _game_?”

Maka doesn’t answer, doesn’t know how to answer, only knows that she hurts. She picks herself up and grabs her bag. “I want to put my p-panties on,” she tells him.

“Then put them on,” Soul snaps. “Do whatever the fuck you want. I’m not your dom.”

“ _You’re_ the one who quit!”

He lifts his head to glare at her. “You don’t get it—”

“Don’t get what?”

“Don’t get— _Why did you do that?_ Why did you t-trust… did you think we were playing chicken? Was that it? This whole time, I’ve been trying to get you to just _say no_ to me, and you—”

“So you admit you were trying to get me to lose.”

“ _It’s not about fucking winning or losing!_ ” Soul howls. “It’s about fucking _trust_ , and _setting boundaries_ , and you— do you even fucking have boundaries? Letting me do that to you, letting me see you like that— _you barely know me!_ I don’t know you— I don’t even _know your name_!”

She doesn’t meet his eyes. “You got a show out of it, so why do you care?”

Soul growls. “So you’d just take advantage of any idiot schmuck willing to trust you?”

“No, but you—”

“ _I’m a fucking person, you know._ Do you think being a dom is easy? It’s not. I told you, I don’t—”

Maka snorts. “How hard can it be to dom someone?”

“ _I’d like to see you try._ ”

“So, what, you’d let me dom you?”

He sees suddenly, vividly, Maka standing over him, restrained and helpless at her feet, and he shudders violently with the _want_ , which is all the more terrifying for how much Soul _does not trust her_. “I-I—”

“Why’d you even pretend to be a dom?” Maka asks, and the rage rears up inside Soul.

“I wasn’t pretending,” he snaps. “You know what? Fine. Fucking try to domme me.”

She finally looks at him. “Seriously?”

He lifts his chin. “With _rules_. I’m not an idiot like you, walking into a situation I don’t understand. First, you take a fucking week to _study up_ and prep for your scene. Second, _get Blair to teach you_ —”

“I don’t need someone like _her_ to teach me,” Maka snaps.

They’re interrupted by a knock at the door. “Room service,” Blair calls through it, as cheerful as ever.

Silence. “Soul?” Blair asks. “Is everything okay?”

Maka strides over to the door and rips it open. “Teach me how to dom someone,” she says stiffly.

Blair glances at her and then past her to where Soul is crouched on the floor, knees drawn to his chest. “Oh, kittens,” she says softly. “What happened?”

“Teach me how to—”

Blair ignores her, walking straight over to Soul. “Soul, are you okay?”

Maka stares at them, at Blair’s hand on Soul’s shoulder, and something like betrayal curls in her gut. Why is she worried about _him_? Just because she’s standing and he’s not— Then again, if they’re hiding their relationship ( _they must be hiding their relationship_ ), it makes sense.

“No,” Soul growls. “Teach her.”

“Soul, what happened?”

Soul gestures vaguely in Maka’s direction. “Made her pose. Took some pictures. Tried to— push her into setting boundaries.” He grimaces. “She didn’t.”

Blair looks back at Maka, and her brow is furrowed over her permanent Customer Service Smile™. “Why do you want to domme Soul, kitten?”

Maka’s eyes flick up from the fourth photo, still lying on the floor. Blair retraces Maka's gaze and lets out a low whistle. “Wow, kitten is _sexy_.”

Maka burns with embarrassment, but she feels faintly flattered as she stalks over to the photo. “I-I just wondered. What it would be like. Especially since Soul…” She sweeps up the photo and stuffs it into her bag.

“You want to experience _this_?” Blair asks dryly, her hand tensing over Soul’s shoulder.

“She thinks domming is _easy_ ,” Soul spits. “I’m proving her wrong.” Maka lifts her chin, but doesn’t deny the statement.

Blair’s smile is strained as she looks back to Soul. “You don’t have to do that, kitten,” she tells Soul.

“... I know,” Soul says quietly. “I want to. I… trust you.”

“And her?”

Soul’s lips twist. “I want to,” he says, but it’s a lie as much as it is a confession. He doesn’t just want to trust this woman, he _wants_ her beyond all reason, even with his entire mind screaming that _she is clueless, don’t trust her_.

The feeling terrifies him.

Blair sighs. “Okay, kitten. I’ll teach her.” She holds up a finger. “One condition, though: Blair will spot for your session.”

Maka stares at the woman, apprehensive. “Spot?”

Blair sighs again. “It means the roughly the same for BDSM as it does for work-out regimens. Whatever happens, I want you to be safe,” she says.

“But I’ll be fine?” Maka protests. “I’ll be in charge, so I won’t be in danger—”

Blair stands and pinches Maka’s nose. “I want you _both_ to be safe. Soul will be in more danger, of course—”

“What? But he’s—”

“Soul has a better idea of what he’s getting into, but he’s just as vulnerable as you are,” Blair says firmly. “I don’t know why he’s agreed to submit to you, but I’m not going to sit by and watch you two mess each other up. If you want to do this, you will let Blair spot for you.”

Maka seethes.

“Kitten.”

“It’s _private_ ,” Maka grumbles. “I can’t just— I don’t want to be in a threesome.”

Blair snorts. “Don’t misunderstand, kitten. I will advise you and step in if I think the scene is excessive and help provide aftercare, but I won’t be engaging in dominance. Some people might like for me to be present as a voyeur, but neither you nor Soul have those preferences, so my involvement should be quite passive. As for privacy— what’s private about it? You were just submissive in a public space. You will be here again, in the same public space, when you domme Soul.”

Her tone lands at the point between expository and impatient that sounds _scornful_ , but Maka can't find a hole in the logic, so she glares wordlessly at the ground.

Blair relents. “I’m sorry, kitten,” she says gently. “Please know that you don’t have to do this.”

Maka lifts her chin. “What’s stopping me?”

Blair nods. “I won’t beat around the bush, then. You _shouldn’t_ do this, kitten.”

“Why not? How hard can it be—”

“ _That’s_ why,” Blair interrupts, brandishing a finger. “You’re focusing on the wrong thing, kitten. This isn’t about domming, this is about your partner.”

Maka glances at Soul, still sagged against the wall, head between his knees once more. “If you don’t want him to, why are you letting him?” she bursts.

“Because in spite of all my reservations, he wants to,” Blair replies evenly. “He _wants_ to, and you, silly kitten, you have _no idea_ how rare that is.” (Soul flinches, still unnerved by his raging emotions.)

“Because he’s a nice guy,” Maka sneers.

“More or less.” Blair pats Soul’s shoulder. “C’mon, kitten, let’s get you home.”

Soul’s fingers latch onto the hem of Blair’s shirt. “Can’t— Don’t want. Sexiled. Pole, needs maintenance.” But he lets Blair pull him to his feet.

“I’ll come in early to check over the pole,” Blair reassures him, but he shakes his head and pulls away from her.

“I’ll be okay,” Soul says, still trembling but certain. “T-teach her. I’ll clean up here. It’ll. It’ll ground me.”

Blair sighs. “Okay, kitten. Come on, Miss.”

Maka starts to follow, but the cool air under her skirt makes her stop. “W-wait,” she says. “I need to— Um.”

“Curtain,” Soul says quietly. “Or mirrors.”

Maka nods wordlessly and makes her way to the other side of the mirror.

Blair watches her vanish before turning to Soul. “You’re sure about her?”

Soul is already spinning slowly around the pole, one foot anchored against the ground, the other tucked neatly behind it. “N-no,” he admits.

“But you want to.”

“Yes.”

Blair sighs. “Leave it to you to fall for such a troublesome partner,” she says with wry amusement.

“I don’t know why, either,” Soul grumbles, pulling himself against the pole and resting his forehead on the cool metal. “... Thanks.”

Blair raps gentle knuckles on the back of his head. “Of course, kitten.”

Maka reappears. “I’m ready,” she says meekly, and follows Blair out of the changing room.

Blair leads Maka to a shelf that Maka had assumed was full of porno DVDs and/or magazines, but the two books she picks out and hands to Maka look more like an erotic novel. “Homework,” Blair says.

_The Mistress Manual_ , the book on top reads. Maka checks the spine of the second book. _The Ultimate Guide to Kink_.

“I don’t want these,” Maka says blankly.

“Homework,” Blair repeats. “If you want to come in to read them, you can; anybody at the counter will happily lend you a chair. The first will give you a better idea of what it will be like. The second will give you ideas for your own preferences. Once you have those, I can recommend scenes for you.”

Maka nods mutely and hands the books back to Blair. “Um. Th-thank you.”

Blair dials up her thousand-watt Customer Service Smile™. “Of course, Miss… I’m sorry, I never caught your name.”

Maka winces. “I’m Maka.”

“Miss Maka.” Blair taps a finger against her chin. “Okay, Miss Maka, I have a new deal for you. If you really, _really_ don’t want to read all this, but you still want to domme Soul, I will personally arrange your scene for you.” She plucks a sticky note from the register and starts scribbling on its before she hands it over. “Here’s my number. We can meet wherever you’d like, but keep in mind that I’ll be giving you a crash course on what you need to know, so keep that in mind if you’re going to be self conscious about talking about BDSM over coffee or something.” She lifts a brow. “Think over how much you want to do this, as well. There’s no shame in saying no.”

* * *

Blair gives Soul gentle reminders throughout the next week, which is somehow both comforting and severely anxiety-inducing. The day after she meets with Miss Maka to make mysterious arrangements, she is very nearly bouncing with excitement.

“You’re gonna enjoy yourself,” she tells him happily.

“You just want to domme me,” Soul jokes back, ignoring his churning nerves.

“I would never,” Blair sniffs. Then, reproachful, “I can’t believe you didn’t even tell her about _safewords_.”

Blair tells him to switch inventory with her on the day of reckoning, proclaiming that she wants him to walk into the scene as cluelessly as Miss Maka had. “Besides, surprise is the best turn-on,” she says dreamily.

And so when Soul walks in that day, Marie’s the one at the counter, and she’s _beaming_. (Soul wonders warily if even Stein knows about the circumstances.) “The girls are already in the dungeon,” Marie tells him. “Blair’s to fetch you when they’re ready.”

“Blair’s _here_ ,” the woman says, appearing as if from thin air. “C’mon, c’mon!”

Marie laughs. “Have fun!” she calls as Blair leads Soul to his maybe-doom. “Be safe, sane, and consensual!”

“Yes’m!” Blair calls back. “I’ll be gentle, promise!”

“But will Maka?” Soul mutters.

Blair thwaps him lightly over the head with her hand. “That’s no way to talk about your domme,” she scolds. “She’s learning. That’s what you wanted, right?”

Soul doesn’t reply.

All but one of the four changing curtains have been tucked away. Soul suspects that the lone holdout is to hide the equipment they’ll be using, and his heart picks up suddenly at the idea that they might somehow keep everything secret until it happens.

Maka is already seated in a chair, dressed in her schoolgirl uniform once more. Her shoulders are hunched, her knees pressed together, and Soul wonders how she can be so stubborn yet so reluctant.

“Don’t you want this?” he blurts.

Maka jumps. “I-I— Do _you_ want this?”

He does. He runs a tongue over his teeth, feeling the prick of the sharp points. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be,” he says.

Blair claps her hands, and both Soul and Maka startle. “Good! Now, I wanted to go through some ground rules before we begin. Soul, you may call me Mistress or Ma’am while we are in this room. Miss Maka, what did you want Soul to call you?”

“Angel. O-or Maka.” Even as she says the names, she winces. They feel childish….

Blair continues. “Miss Maka, please tell me: what does BDSM stand for?”

Maka inhales carefully. “Bondage, discipline, sadism, a-and masochism. Alternatively, bondage, discipline, dominance, submission, sadism, and masochism. We have been and will be engaging in dominance and submission.”

“Good girl. Soul, remember what Marie told us on our way back here?”

Soul blinks. “Wh— oh. Safe, sane, consensual.”

“Miss Maka, do you know what that means?”

Maka nods. “For the dominant, do no harm, either physical or mental, and be mindful of your partner’s willingness to engage in p-play.”

“RACK.”

“Risk assessed, consensual kink. When engaging in something dangerous, it must be discussed to ensure consent and mental preparedness,” Maka reels off, and Soul wonders what kind of session she and Blair had for her to be reciting all of this material. Where did the hostile woman of yesterweek go?

Blair is nodding. “Aftercare.”

Maka’s certainty vanishes. “It’s to… help all parties leave with a good feeling.”

Blair looks to Soul.

“Sort of, ma’am,” he says. “I mean, that’s a really reductive…. Scenes are pretty stressful, even if they’re successful. They’re really tense— really _intense_. Aftercare is to relieve that pressure, to clarify whatever maybe couldn’t be said in the middle of the scene, to make sure everyone is okay, ma’am.”

“It’s thought to be primarily for the submissive’s wellbeing, but it is still extremely important for the dominant,” Blair adds. “This might be something taught better by example.”

“Maybe,” Maka mumbles, frowning to herself.

“Last one,” Blair tells her. “This is the most immediately important. Soul, what are your safewords? Or safesigns, if you prefer.”

“Red and yellow, ma’am,” Soul says quietly.

“And what do they mean?”

“If I say red, the scene is over. If I say yellow, I need to check in. M-ma’am.”

Blair nods and tilts her head toward Maka. “So? What do you do if he says red?”

“I stop,” Maka says.

“You stop,” Blair agrees. “All restraints are removed, and we go to aftercare immediately. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“What do you do if he says yellow?”

“I… stop?” Maka guesses.

“You put down what you’re doing, make sure Soul is okay, and move on to the next thing,” Blair corrects. “If necessary, I’ll take over for a bit.” She claps her hands. “Good! Maka, bring it.”

Maka stands obediently. Soul watches in the mirror wall as she disappears behind the curtain.

Blair hums tunelessly 

“Feels like you’re domming me after all, ma’am,” Soul mumbles. “Is this really…” He loses his train of thought when Maka steps back into view.

Leather. Leather and skin, so much of _both_ , Soul can barely _think_ through the blank, blissful shock. With her head held high and her shoulders thrown back, she looks every inch the confident dominant in the leather corset and high boots and that short, _short_ skirt.

Blair smiles, feline and sly. “Hand me a belt and I’ll show you how to restrain him,” she tells Maka. “Your arm, kitten,” she adds to Soul as she kneels behind him. He obeys thoughtlessly, his eyes still fixed on Maka.

She’s not confident so much as she is stubborn, he thinks distantly, drinking in her every movement. Her shoulders creep forward despite her best attempts to keep them back, and she refuses to meet his eyes. _Is he scaring her?_ His eyes drop immediately to the floor, and he finally notices how hard his heart is pounding.

Blair’s hands are gentle and soft as she wraps a belt around his wrist and the back strut of the chair. “How does that feel?” she coos. “Not too tight?”

He flexes his arm. The edges of the belt dig pleasantly into his skin. “It’s good, ma’am,” he says quietly.

Blair pats his elbow comfortingly. “Now you try,” she says to Maka.

Maka’s boots are loud on the white tile floor. He doesn’t look up at her, though he does watch her feet in the mirror. “Y-your arm,” she orders, and ah, she’s nervous after all, her voice too loud, too aggressive. It’s a jarring reminder that no matter how much she’s been told about BDSM, she still doesn’t get it.

Blair is watching, he reminds himself, but he hooks his free arm over the chair instead of letting Maka handle it. She doesn’t question him, thankfully, but he hisses when she pulls the buckle too tightly, pinching his arm between leather and metal.

“Not too tight,” Blair chides. “Don’t cut off his circulation. You’re restraining, not hurting.”

“R-right. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to your sub,” Blair calls as she disappears behind the curtain.

“Oh.” Silence. (Maka struggles with embarrassment and confusion— isn’t she dominating him? How is an apology compatible with that?) “Sorry,” she whispers.

Soul doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t challenge her authority, either.

Blair reappears and presses fabric into Maka’s hand. “Tell him what you’re doing before you do it,” she murmurs into Maka’s ear, and retreats once more.

Maka looks down at the object. “I’m going to blindfold you now,” she announces bluntly, and stretches the blindfold over Soul’s head.

It’s uncomfortable and haphazard, and even when the blindfold is settled over Soul’s eyes it feels like it would fly off with a shake of his head.

“Check,” Blair murmurs, and Maka asks, “How do you feel?”

She sounds like a robot reciting a script. _Uncomfortable,_ Soul wants to say. _You don’t know what you’re doing._ “Blind, Miss Maka,” he says instead.

Maka shifts uncomfortably, but doesn’t correct him.

“Cheeky,” Blair giggles. “Someone’s being a bad boy.”

Soul opens his mouth to protest— but a finger presses against his lips, and Blair shushes him.

“What do you think, Miss Maka?” she asks. “Would you like to punish him?”

“I can do that?” Maka says, sounding surprised.

“You’re the boss,” Blair replies cheerfully.

“... Open up,” Maka tells him, and he obeys automatically with the finger that presses to his lower lip. (It’s soft.) “Not that wide. Never mind, just—” And a small, citrusy tablet of hard candy presses against his lips.

Maka doesn’t get her fingers out of the way fast enough to avoid his tongue. The sensation is swift and warm, and Maka chases it unthinkingly, her fingers sinking past his lips.

He makes a muffled sound of surprise (and another when his tongue starts tingling from the cough drop), and Maka _trembles_ , her entire body wracked with the feeling. She’d never known that her fingers had such a direct line to her brain, but Soul is sucking on them, and they _do_.

“That’s enough, Miss Maka.”

Maka jerks her fingers out of Soul’s mouth. (They glisten, saliva-slick and still tingling with the memory of his entire mouth, so warm and soft and _fascinating_ —)

“It’s not good to impair his speech,” Blair says.

“Yes, ma’am,” Maka says.

“Continue.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Maka looks back down at Soul and cups his face, fascinated despite herself.

His skin is flawlessly smooth. Maka wonders what kind of products he uses, because surely no one is this naturally beautiful.

His lips are soft. Maka can’t resist tracing them with her thumb, over and over, entranced by the texture.

“Miss Maka,” Blair says quietly.

“I-I know,” Maka replies. “Soul, how do you feel?”

Her thumb pauses at the corner of his mouth as she speaks, and then her index finger traces up his cheekbone to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear. She is gentle, now, her hand cupping the back of his head, and this time she sounds curious, as though she cares. The idea sends pleasant warmth flooding to his cheeks.

“Feels good, Miss Maka,” he whispers.

Maka closes her eyes and lets the shiver run through her body. Her hand slides along his face slowly, relishing in the gentle burn of skin on skin. She strokes his cheekbone, traces the rim of his ear, tugs at the lobe, slips down his neck, over his shoulder, and back up—

Her fingers dig smoothly into a knot at the base of his neck. He huffs in surprise, but just as quickly as he arches his spine, he melts, as well.

“Is it that good?” Maka asks, and her breath is hot against his ear.

“ _Yes, Miss Maka,_ ” he groans.

Maka stares down at him, at how he has sagged bonelessly, _blissfully_ into his chair. She could do anything to him, she realizes suddenly, and swells with an inexplicable high. She controls his pleasure, controls him. He is helpless.

(Distantly, in the back of her mind, there is concern, there is fear, there is self-directed disgust, wavering like smoke.)

“Maka,” Blair sings, and she is wielding a smirk and a set of noise-cancelling headphones when Maka looks to her.

Maka backs away from Soul (when had she gotten so close to him?) and takes the headphones.

“Go on,” Blair says.

Maka nods and leans over Soul once more and claps the headphones over his ears.

Soul jumps at the abrupt removal of one of his senses. The silence presses in on him, oppresses him, and his anxiety launches him directly into panic mode. _What is Maka doing?_ She hadn’t even warned him before deafening him, and he is freshly aware of how vulnerable he feels, at how _unsafe_ he feels.

_Blair is here,_ he reminds himself desperately. _Blair is here, Blair is **safe** —_ But in the end, Maka is in control, and Maka is not safe.

Without warning, fingers slide down his jaw and press again the base of his neck, rest around his _throat_ , and it’s too much.

“ _Red!_ ”

His voice is too loud, echoing endlessly in his own head, but nothing changes. If anything, the fingers at his throat _tighten_ — “ ** _Red!_** ” he repeats desperately, when he’s still blind and deaf and _scared, so scared, what if Maka doesn’t **listen** , why did he even try to trust her—?_

A rush of cool air upon his ears. He sucks in a breath of relief, and it trips out of his chest like a dry sob.

“Soul, kitten,” Blair murmurs, concerned and gentle and _safe_.

“Blair,” he whispers.

“That’s me,” she replies softly. “I’m here, kitten. I’m sorry. I’m going to take off your blindfold now, okay?”

“O-okay.” The fabric over his eyes vanishes, but he doesn’t open them. (He’s still afraid of something he can’t put words to, and staying in the dark is better than facing his fear.)

Someone ruffles his hair. “C’mon, kitten,” Blair murmurs, and Soul peels his eyes open to squint at her against the too-bright light in the room. Her constant smile relaxes a little, betraying her relief. “Good boy. I need to take off the belts now, okay?”

He nods. _Inhale, exhale._ His breaths are still shaky and aching in his chest. He closes his eyes when Blair moves away, out of sight, to work at the restraints. When it’s over, he wraps his arms around himself, trying to contain his trembling.

“Here, kitten,” Blair says, and something soft is pushed into his arms. He opens his eyes: a stuffed tiger stares benignly back.

Blair strokes his hair, and her hand is familiar and comforting. Soul clings to the toy.

“Come here, kitten,” Blair says, and for a wild moment Soul wonders why she’s telling him to come to her when he’s already right there— and then he hears a shaky whimper and sees Maka for the first time since he’s been freed, and skin and leather steal his breath all over again.

Maka approaches them hesitantly, trembling, torn, but she can’t resist the comfort Blair offers and so finds herself kneeling beside Blair, hugging the woman’s hips. The headphones she’d taken from Soul clatter to the floor, and Blair pats at her head vaguely. “You were both very brave for your first scene,” the woman says. “I’m very proud of you. You tried your best, I know.

“I’m going to talk about what I just saw, okay, kittens? I think you both know that this little scene didn’t go very well. It’s not your fault, neither of you. Soul, you were amazing. Thank you for using your safeword when you needed it. Miss Maka, you had fun, didn’t you?”

Maka shudders, remembering the high that had struck her only minutes ago. “Too much,” she says hoarsely. “It was— I could have— I could have done _anything_.”

“But you didn’t,” Blair soothes. “You stopped when Soul told you to.”

Maka shakes her head vehemently. “You don’t understand,” she insists with terror-driven certainty. “It felt— I didn’t think about him at all, I just—”

“Shh.” The sound is gentle. “You stopped when he told you to, kitten, and that counts for something. Soul, tell us what you felt when you used your safeword.”

“ _Scared._ ” The word bursts from his throat, unclogging it like a crumbling dam. “I didn’t know what was happening, there was no warning, I didn’t— I tried to trust you, Blair, I tried so hard, but it was— I couldn’t— I couldn’t— I couldn’t trust Miss M-Maka.”

Maka flinches. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t— I wasn’t thinking about you, about— I just— I didn’t realize— I didn’t _know_.” His screams still echo in her mind, raw and sudden and so, so _scared_. She had done that to him, had reduced him to that sheer terror—

“Shh, shh,” Blair croons, still patting her head, but she’s looking at Soul.

“I knew that,” Soul whispers. “I knew— that you didn’t know, that you didn’t— _get it_.”

“Wh— why did you? Because Blair?”

Soul swallows. “If she weren’t, then I wouldn’t have— but if it were just Blair, then I wouldn’t have, either. I-I—” But he can’t do it, can’t admit how much he wanted her, how, beyond all reason, he _still wants her_. “I liked letting go,” he says instead.

The guilt is curdling in Maka’s gut. “You let go,” she whispers.

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t.”

“Didn’t? Didn’t what?”

“I didn’t let go, with you,” Maka clarifies. “I— I was waiting for an excuse, I wanted to push you, I wanted you to do something a-awful so I could beat you up, so I could prove that I wasn’t some— some _defenseless chick_ you could use to get off on, I didn’t want to _lose_ — but you— you just— you didn’t, and you— _let go_ , you still let go, and you shouldn’t have—”

“Me, too,” Soul admits. “When I was d-domming you, I also— I was trying to get you to quit, I thought you would quit, I just— I wanted you to know you could trust me, I wanted to show you that I’d listen, but— I— want— you just _kept going_ , and I didn’t— I’m sorry, I didn’t even teach you the basics, I didn’t even give you a safeword, I just made it all or nothing, I shouldn’t have—”

“I want to try again,” Maka says suddenly. “I want to— I want to do it right, I want to let go, I— I want to trust you. S-Soul. I-if you’ll let me. Blair can— Blair can watch, even, if you want— if you think it’ll— but Soul….” She trails off, confused.

“Woah, there, kittens,” Blair murmurs. “One scene at a time. Deep breaths, Miss Maka, yes, that’s it. Can you stand for me, please? I want to get aftercare supplies, just from the other side of the curtain, Soul. You remember the box with the blankets and snacks, right, Miss Maka? Let’s go get us some snacks, okay?”

Maka’s breaths shake her entire body. “O-okay,” she whispers, and staggers to her feet, and follows Blair behind the curtain, where she spots her schoolgirl outfit and is suddenly painfully aware of the leather outfit she’s wearing. “C-can I…?”

“Of course, kitten,” Blair murmurs as Maka detaches herself from Blair’s side. “Here, hydrate. Will you be okay alone?”

“I-I think so?”

Blair nods and disappears back through the curtain, an open cardboard box in her arms. Maka reaches for her clothes.

They’re cold. Maka starts to pull the top over her head, but remembers that she’s still wearing the leather, and she wants _out_.

She’d changed into the leather on her own before, and it had been tight, but it shouldn’t be this hard to get _off_. She sinks to the floor with a thump and starts tearing at the leather mindlessly, overwhelmed, what if she _can’t take it off_ —

She doesn’t realize that she’s whimpering until Blair slips back through the curtain and starts soothing her.

“Oh, kitten.” Blair sighs and places her hands over Maka’s. “Let me help you?”

“O-okay,” Maka whispers, and together they peel the leather from Maka’s skin until she’s shivering and almost nude.

She should care, she thinks distantly, that an almost-stranger is seeing her basically naked, but she doesn’t. Instead, she lets Blair dress her, as if she’s four again and her papa is getting her dressed for school.

Blair isn’t Papa, though, and she isn’t going to school.

Blair helps Maka to her feet and pushes her opened bottle of water back into her hands. “Drink some more, and then let’s go back out and talk to Soul,” Blair murmurs, and Maka realizes with a guilty start that she’d completely forgotten about the man.

“Is he okay?”

“He has Hobbes,” Blair says. “Let’s hurry, though.”

Maka nods and follows Blair back through the curtain.

Soul is staring at himself in the mirror wall, still clutching the stuffed tiger to his chest, feet pulled up to the edge of his chair seat and blanket wrapped haphazardly over his shoulders. When the girls emerge from the curtain, his eyes flick automatically over to them, but just as quickly lower to his knees.

Blair ushers Maka into the seat beside Soul and wraps her in a blanket pulled from the box she’d brought out while Maka had tried to change back into her clothes. “Drink and eat,” Blair tells both of them, handing Maka a chocolate bar. “If you have anything to say, feel free.”

Soul closes his eyes as he guzzles down water and stuffs his face with snacks. (The cough drop is long gone.) “I’ll do it,” he says. “I’ll… I’ll dom you. I-if you still want me to.”

He doesn’t see the way Maka looks at him, the way she perks up with hopeful eagerness. “I want you to.”

They are quiet for a moment longer.

“I— I’ll listen, this time,” Maka promises. “I’ll— I’ll use safewords— safesigns— I’ll be— _I’ll trust you_.”


	3. won't hurt me (no more)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: more miscommunication!! this time of the heartbreak variety, also there's bondage, and questionable collaring ~~i'msosorry~~ , did i mention heartbreak?
> 
> it gets better, i promise

Soul and Blair are still pouring over the script he’d written on his phone, examining it for any last-minute changes, when Maka knocks at the shop door.

Blair lets her in and leads her over to where Soul is still slouched over his phone, his thumb worrying at its edge. “You’re up, Soul,” Blair tells him.

He straightens, and Maka is suddenly aware of how tall he is, how he towers over her. “Let’s go,” he says, and Maka nods.

He holds the dungeon door open for her, and she watches in the mirror as he steps into the room behind her, looming behind her, close enough for her skin to tingle. “Let’s review,” he says. “For this session, you will call me by my name, or Master, or Sir, and you will respond every time I speak to you. Is that clear?”

He’s different. Or had he been like this the first time? Maka can’t remember.

“Is that clear?” Soul repeats. He’s still nervous, still anxious, trying to hide it behind a stoic dom’s mask, but her silence reads as sullen, and he thought that this time would be _different_ , but if it’s not then he’s calling quits—

“Y-yes, S— Soul.”

Soul lets out a slow, even breath. _He can do this._ “What are your safewords?”

 _Red and yellow,_ Maka thinks, but she flinches at the memory of Soul’s scream. “C-can I use… safesigns, instead?” she asks, and adds, quickly, “Soul?”

Soul hesitates. “I’m going to tie you up today,” he tells her. “Signs won’t be as effective as words. Would you still prefer signs?”

Maka gnaws her lips. “I— I’m not sure, S— sir.”

Something in Soul warms pleasantly at the title. “Red and yellow—”

Maka shakes her head violently. “I’m sorry, I just— um. Six and seven, sir.”

“You’ll remember them?”

She nods. “Yes, sir. I was going to use the signs for numbers anyway.”

“Okay. Which is which?”

“Six is the same as r-red. Seven is yellow. S-sir.”

The devil’s number and the lucky number. That sort of makes sense, he supposes. “Six to stop, seven to pause,” he repeats. “Correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

He extends one hand to the yoga mat on the floor and the box sitting on top of it. “Sit facing me, and I’ll explain.”

Maka obeys, walking to the mat and turning around and folding her legs under her and looking up at Soul, who is still standing next to the door. “Soul?”

“As I said, I’m going to tie you up today,” he says. ( _Stoic, but open. Confident, but humble._ ) “If you have problems with circulation, please tell me now. If you don’t want me to touch you, tell me now. Otherwise, to be as safe and as effective as possible, I want you to put on a swimsuit, so that I can see what I’m doing without sacrificing your modesty. You don’t have to, but if you do, I’ve prepared options for you. You’ll find them in the box on top.”

Maka glances at the box beside her.

“I’m going to turn around,” Soul tells her. “Same as last time, but I left a curtain out to give you more cover if you want it. Tell me when you’re done.”

“Yes, Sir,” Maka says softly as Soul turns and faces the door, and then she turns to the box. As promised, it’s has a good number of neatly folded swimsuits. There’s a fabric layer under the suits: she peeks under it curiously, finds neatly tied bundles of ropes, and drops the fabric like it burns her.

 _Focus._ She runs her hand over the swimsuits, stalling for time while her racing heart slows. She’s vaguely surprised at how conservative the swimsuits turn out to be: they’re all solid colors, and most of them are one-piece suits.

Her hand stalls over a particular fabric. She wavers for a moment, and then commits.

The sound of rustling fabric is embarrassingly loud. Soul tears himself apart for forgetting about that, for not turning on a fan to cover the noise, for not just _leaving the room like he should have_ , but he’d based this decision on the last session, when Maka had made him stay in the room.

He’s still berating himself when Maka gives the okay, and then he turns and sees her standing on the mat and feels his heart stop.

She’d picked the only set that isn’t a swimsuit. The bottom is a pair of black, leather, high-waisted hotpants. The top is a black leather crop top that hugs her modest curves and leaves the bottom of her ribcage bare. Most important, though, is the simple leather collar around her neck. Does she know what it means? Has Blair been teaching her behind his back? Was it just part of the outfit? He doesn’t recognize the clothes at all, doesn’t remember putting them in the box—

 _Blair,_ he realizes distantly.

“Soul?”

He shudders. “Good,” he says weakly. He clears his throat. “It’s good,” he repeats. “On you. It looks good. You look—” He cuts himself off clumsily.

“Th-thank you, S—” _Too intimate._ “Thank you, sir,” she whispers.

He worries his lower lip with his teeth. “Thank _you_ ,” he mutters fervently. “P-please face the mirror and sit.”

“Yes, sir.”

He waits until she’s seated to approach her, kneeling as he pulls the box off the mat and lifting the swimsuits (and her clothes, neatly folded) out of it for easy access to the ropes and emergency/care kit.

“In the interest of keeping you informed, I’m going to tell you about the risks,” Soul says aloud as he spools out one of the bundles of ropes. “If poorly done, rope bondage can result in nerve damage and loss of circulation. Do you consent?”

“I trust you,” Maka says softly.

“Do you consent?” Soul repeats, running the rope through his hands.

“Yes, sir.”

“You also know that you can withdraw your consent at any time.”

“Yes, sir.”

 _Beware of nerve damage. Keep ropes away from joints. Watch for loss of circulation…_ The rope feels good in his hands, soft and smooth without any stray threads to scratch sensitive skin. He folds it in half twice and ties a knot toward the loop end, easily big enough to fit over Maka’s head, tugging until the knot is stable. When it is, he kneels in front of Maka, and the ends of rope swish against the floor.

“Arms out to the side,” he murmurs, and Maka obeys, shivering, staring down at her partner. He doesn’t meet her eyes as he puts the loop over her neck and gently lifting her hair free, instead absorbing himself in his work, fingers deft as he ties a series of knots down the length of the ropes, stopping at the base of her breastbone.

He leans in for the next part, wrapping the ropes around the base of her slight breasts, and Maka catches a glimpse of them in the mirror, where it simply looks like Soul is hugging her.

Then he _pulls_.

“Ah— s-seven,” Maka gasps, and the ropes loosen immediately.

“Are you okay?” Soul asks, his heart pounding. _Seven means pause,_ he reminds himself, but his fingers are already at the rope, slipping between leather and fiber to test the gap. His fingers fit easily, though he has to take care not to accidentally pull the leather up and expose more skin. Just in case, he adds, “Is this okay?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Maka whispers.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” she says softly.

“You can breathe okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I can keep going?”

“Yes, sir.”

He wants to hug her, to comfort her somehow, and kicks himself for not asking if there was some way to touch her without being a creep about it. After a moment of internal debate, he settles for patting her head. “Thank you for using your safeword,” he murmurs, and carefully finishes binding her chest with one more loop over her chest.

“It’s short,” she says as he’s tucking the loose ends into the central loop to hide them. “Is this it, sir?”

“No. Two more ties.” He looks up at her. “Still okay?”

Maka takes a deep breath. The ropes tighten around her ribs, digging into skin, restricting, but when she exhales, the feeling recedes. “I think so,” she replies.

Soul nods and stands. “Arms behind your back. Like during the photoshoot.”

“Yes, sir.”

Maka is left to stare at herself in the mirror. The ropes digging into her chest make her look more feminine than she remembers being.

She startles when Soul hooks his fingers under the rope at the back of her neck, and he pauses. “You okay?”

“J-just surprised,” she replies. “Ah— just surprised, sir.”

“Okay.” And he continues with the same intensity as before, and though this time she can’t see his fingers working, she watches the calm focus on his face.

Arm warmers, he thinks as he binds her arms. Next time— But there won’t be a next time, he reminds himself, and carefully adds several extra wraps to distribute the stress more evenly.

He takes each of her her hands in his. “Squeeze,” he says.

“Why?” she asks, even as she obeys, but she is curious rather than confrontational.

“Testing for nerve damage,” he tells her. “Again, please. I want to know your grip strength now so I can check for it later.”

“Oh.”

“... Are you okay with the danger?”

Maka nods. “I trust you.”

He ducks his head to hide his flushing face. “One more,” he tells the floor. “You’ll need to stand for this one.”

He’s surprised when she obeys easily, barely wobbling even with her arms bound. Her action puts him at eye level with a very shapely, leather-clad ass; he drags his eyes away from it, ignoring the sudden surging _want_.

“Good balance,” he murmurs.

“Thank you?” she replies, confused, before her eyes land on his outstretched hands, still offering support that she hadn’t needed. “Ah. Thank you, sir.”

“J-just an observation.” Soul turns back to the box for one last bundle, but he hesitates. “This one will bind your legs,” he tells her. “Tell me if you don’t…”

But Maka watches quietly as he works his way from her waist to her ankles. He looks submissive, she thinks, even while he’s restricting her movement, while he’s binding her, while he’s transforming her into the helpless girl she was so determined not to be. She’s acutely aware, now, of the power that she’s sacrificing to him.

Because she trusts him.

Finally, he stands, and Maka stares up at him as he checks over her, slipping his fingers between rope and leather, circling around her.

“Squeeze,” he says, placing his hands in hers again, and she obeys. “Good.”

Then he places his hands at her waist and leans in, close enough for Maka to feel his breath tickle her ear, and whispers, “ _Time for your punishment._ ”

 _Punishment?_ She stares at their reflection in the mirror, at how vulnerable she looks when she’s so completely bound, at how possessive Soul looks with his hands at her waist and his cheek pressed to the side of her head, and her knees give out.

He collapses with her, arms wrapped around her waist to catch her, but he kneels instead of sitting, so that he looms over and behind her like a guardian angel… or a tempting demon.

“I-I don’t understand, sir,” she says, but it comes out as a whisper. “I’ve been good— I’m _listening_ —”

“You’ve been good _this time_ ,” Soul corrects, his breath hot against her ear. “You were terribly rude the day I met you.”

Maka shudders. “I’m sorry, sir,” she whispers. “I’m— I didn’t know.”

“I’m glad you understand, now,” he murmurs, and his voice rumbles through her head and tingles down her spine. “Still, I can’t just let you get away with so much disrespect. _So._ ” The word is an eager hiss. “ _Punishment._ Are we clear?”

She shudders again, a full-bodied convulsion. She can’t protect herself, she realizes distantly, and she is terrified at the thought. How much does she trust Soul, really?

“ _Maka._ ”

“Yes, sir,” she whispers.

He’s moving her, now, arranging her like a doll, so that she is bent over his knee, her cheek pressing into the yoga mat. She can still see them in the mirror, can see how effortlessly and carelessly he touches her, can see how deliberately he raises her ass. One of his hands traces along the ropes at her back and slides over her hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently. The gesture is at odds with how ridiculous she feels, how vulnerable, how… _sexy_.

Maka’s grip is as strong as it was when they began. Soul’s heart, meanwhile, pounds from how easily Maka had accepted his dominance, at how fully she is opening herself to him, to his _want_ —

Soul slips his hand out of hers and trails it down her spine to her butt, rubbing lightly through the leather hotpants.

His hand is electrifying, radiating through the leather and pulling a startled gasp from Maka’s throat. Maka hadn’t known this about herself, hadn’t known how much she’d react to someone fondling her butt— but Soul isn’t just some random groper, and he has power over her, power she’d given freely, power she'd let go of because she trusted him— _trusts_ him.

“Sensitive,” Soul murmurs.

He can do anything he wants to her. He can ignore their safewords, can touch her wherever he wants, can take advantage of her, and she can’t stop him, can only hope that Blair hears her in time to stop him—

“Brace yourself,” he warns, and Maka watches, uncomprehending, as he raises his hand.

She barely understands when the strike lands, only screams at the sting, even as the feeling subsides to a hot throb, burning, burning, burning. It’s hard to breathe...

She’s panting, her back heaving with her breaths, straining against leather and rope. Soul watches and strokes her backside, shaken by her scream, waiting for a safeword that doesn’t come, a safeword whose absence only makes Soul more anxious. Has she forgotten them?

“We’ll go up to five,” he tells her firmly, hoping that the hint is enough. “Count them.”

 _Count them._ Count what? How does she do that?

Soul squeezes slightly, and Maka trembles at the electricity that dances up her spine. Oh. “O-one, sir,” she whispers.

“Speak up.”

“ _O-one, sir._ ”

Soul’s hand is warm, radiating through leather, soothing the sting. “Good girl.” And then his hand vanishes, and Maka tenses, and—

 _Slap._ “T-two,” she gasps.

Soul sighs. “Maka,” he says, and he sounds— cautioning? “Three more.”

 _Three more._ She clings to that number, clings and hopes that means the end.

She feels cold and tenses and can’t help but try to escape, can’t help but twist away from his punishing hand— but his other hand catches her waist and hoists her back over his knee.

“Maka,” he says again, and this time he sounds sad. “Don’t run away. You can do it.”

She breathes in, struggling to draw air through her constricted chest, struggling to stay calm, to believe him, to _trust him_. “ _I can’t,_ ” she blurts, and it’s a surprise even to herself. “I can’t, Soul, please, _please_ —”

“Maka.” His hands are so, so warm, stroking and soothing and _warm, he’s overheating her, melting her brain with burning hands_. “You can.”

“ _Please,_ ” Maka whimpers.

“Three more, Maka. I trust you. Do you understand?”

_She can’t breathe._

“ _Count._ ” And there it is, that dreadful chill that means that it’s coming, it’s _coming_ —

“ ** _Six,_** ” Maka screams.

Time stops. She imagines the next blow, _feels_ it in the fraction of a second before the strike, feels her own hopelessness, feels the helpless ache of betrayal stretching on and on and _on_ — and then she is sitting up, safe and whole, her back propped against Soul’s knee while he unloops the ends of the rope around her chest.

His fingers are trembling almost too hard to undo the ropes. He balls them into fists for a moment, willing them to hold still, and keeps going, picking insistently at the knots until they unravel.

The air that flows into Maka’s lungs is a heady relief. Soul’s bonds had been more restrictive on her chest than she’d realized: now that they’re loose, she can finally breathe deeply, and she does so with relish, melting indulgently against Soul’s knee, safe, safe, _safe_. She’d been right to trust him. Maybe she should have trusted him more, trusted him sooner, but still— she’d trusted him, and he hadn’t betrayed her trust.

She trusts him. She _wants_ him, she realizes, wants to keep trusting him, wants to be his—

“Are you okay?” he asks, tipping her forward and working to undo the rope around her arms.

The ropes around her legs are tough against her forehead. “Didn’t realize how hard it was to breathe,” she mumbles.

“Oh.” Her arms drop to her sides, and a warm hand rests against her back. “Better?”

She hums.

“Can you… breathe okay, like that?”

“ _Mmh._ ”

Soul can’t help but laugh. “Okay, then.” He scoots around her to get at her ankles, but one of her hands shoots forward to tangle in his shirt.

“Cold,” she whispers.

He hesitates. She’s dropping, and dropping hard, but he needs to untie her, and he needs to message Blair the okay to bring snacks and water….

“I gotta untie your legs, Maka,” he tells her. “Could be dangerous to leave ‘em on too long.”

“But it’s cold,” she insists, and her grip is strong on his shirt. At least he’s avoided nerve damage to her hands….

“Compromise. I’ll undo enough for you to get at the ends, and then I’ll tell you how to untie them, and you take them off, okay?”

Silence, and then she lets go. “Okay,” she agrees.

He’s quick with the first few wraps, and carefully loosens the whole thing before scooting back behind Maka and resting a hand on her back. “I’m gonna text Blair and tell her to bring snacks,” he says gently.

Maka stiffens.

“You need energy and water,” he tells her.

“... Want just us,” she admits. “I— S-Soul, I—”

She twists on the spot. Soul loses contact with her back, but instead finds her hovering right there, so close.

( _Now or never,_ Maka thinks.)

“I—”

His eyes are fixed on hers, and he leans just a fraction closer, and Maka loses her voice, too distracted by Soul’s mouth. Desperate, unthinking, she closes the distance between her lips and his skin, clutching at his shirt as she presses against his cheek, even though she knows, she _knows_ she doesn’t stand a chance—

Soul jerks away. The back of his hand presses against the corner of his mouth, instinctively wiping at the impression that her lips had left. His eyes are wider than she’s ever seen them, with shock, and with _disgust_ , she is utterly certain.

Maka’s heart drops to her gut.

“Maka,” Soul croaks. She watches his throat bob. “I’m— I— thank you, but…”

Maka closes her eyes and tries not to cry. Her breath hitches. She wishes she were still bound, so that she could blame the ropes.

He reaches for her instinctively, wraps his arms around her shoulders and pulls her into a tentative hug and _ignores how much he wants, this hug is for her, not for himself_. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “It’s not… Now’s not… Maka, you’re dropping. You’re… your emotions are… you’re compromised. I don’t— I don’t know if what you want is what you want.”

Maka struggles to wrap her head around his words, but they don’t make sense. _He_ doesn’t make sense. He _never_ made sense to her, she thinks tiredly, and closes her eyes, and lets herself cry in his too-gentle arms, because one thing is very clear: she loves Soul, and Soul doesn’t love her, doesn’t even want her. How can he, when he has Blair?

Blair is lucky, Maka thinks sadly, to be so loved, to have the trust of this man, to have the steady fidelity of this man.

* * *

Soul _wants_.

The world seems to tilt the longer he stares at himself in his bathroom mirror. Even his mind seems to slide sideways, like it’s being tipped out of his body.

He’s dreaming, isn’t he?

It’s been something of a running joke that he’s never met Star’s friend Max, even though Max lives in the apartment next door and comes over to hang out not infrequently. Until tonight’s movie marathon party, he’d even thought that Max was a guy.

He’d never have guessed that Max is _Maka_.

He’s dreaming. He _must_ be dreaming, except that he remembers exactly what had happened today without any hint of the dreamfuzz that he’s long since learned to recognize.

Besides, he’d already dreamed of her last night.

He shuts his eyes and wills himself to stay grounded. _Plan of action?_ Get through the movie, ideally don’t let on that anything is wrong, try really hard to not be a creep.

Step one, get out of the bathroom before Star accuses him of taking a dump.

He takes a deep, centering breath, and opens the bathroom door.

“Maka,” he blurts, because there she is, standing right in front of him in the little hallway. “S-sorry,” he mumbles, and steps aside.

“Don’t be!” she says quickly. “I— I should be— I, uh— D-do you want to be my dom?”

Soul stares at her. _I’m dreaming,_ he thinks, dazed, because there’s no way this is happening.

Maka is still rambling. “I— You don’t have to— This isn’t even a good time, I’m so sorry—Y-you can say no, of course, and I mean, I wouldn’t blame you, I j-just thought— Th-the books Blair gave me made it seem like it wouldn’t be a r-romance thing, just—”

“ **Yes,** ” he blurts, “yes, I want to be your dom, but— There’s— What?”

Maka looks surprised. “... I didn’t think you’d say yes,” she says.

“You and Soul?” Star interrupts, appearing at the end of the short hallway. “Holy _shit_ , Maks, I didn’t know you were into the Dom/sub stuff!”

“I-I’m not!” Maka snaps, whirling on him. “Butt out, Star!”

“You weren’t already going out?” Tsubaki asks, poking her head around the corner and peering at them.

“We-we’re not going out!” Maka squeaks. “It’s not— It’s _different_. B-besides, Soul already has….”

Star glances at Soul. “Shit, dude, you okay?”

Soul notices abruptly that he’s leaning on the wall and halfway collapsed to the floor. “’M fine,” he mumbles. “Think I’m dreaming.”

Star kneels. “We haven’t even opened the drinks,” he jokes. “Do you wanna lie down or somethin’?”

“I’m not dreaming, am I?” Soul asks, staring at Maka.

“You’re not dreaming,” she says. “ _Do_ you wanna lie down? You look like you need to lie down.”

Soul tries to focus his whirling thoughts. “You’re Maka,” he says.

“... Yes?”

“And also Max.”

“... That’s what Star calls me.”

“Max, Star’s friend who lives next door who I keep missing.”

“... That’s the joke,” Maka says uncertainly, kneeling beside him. “Do you need help getting up?”

“ _I thought you were a guy._ ”

“You’re not the only one,” Star chuckles, earning a shove from Maka.

Soul opens his mouth to reply, but words fail him, so instead he just stares, open-mouthed.

“You broke him,” Star tells Maka, who shoves at him again and then offers Soul a hand. He takes it and lets her pull him to his feet, where he wobbles but stays, still staring.

Maka fidgets under his gaze. “I should’ve waited until after the marathon,” she mutters.

Tsubaki claps her hands, startling both of them. “Sounds like you two need some time alone,” she declares. “Maka, is your door open? Star and I can get out of your hair—”

“ **No** , don’t, it’s fine,” Maka exclaims.

“Good call,” Soul mutters. “They cannot be trusted.”

Tsubaki blushes. Star pulls a face. “We’re not that bad.”

“Find a voyeur yet?” Soul retorts.

Tsubaki squeaks faint protests. Star looks from Soul to Maka. “Okay, you guys go, then,” he decides, and seizes both Soul and Maka by the wrist and drags them to the apartment door and shoves them both out. “Have fun!” he declares, and shuts the door in their face.

“Star,” Soul starts.

The deadbolt clunks heavily into place. “Text me with your relationship upgrade and I’ll let you back in.” Star’s voice is muffled from the other side of the door.

Soul tries not to look at Maka, instead staring at the doorknob. “Uncool,” he mutters.

“I’m sorry,” Maka says, too loudly, but lowers her voice when Soul looks at her. “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked, since you— you have Blair, I don’t know what I was _thinking_.”

“Blair?” Soul repeats. “You— Do you still think we’re a thing? We’re not. We’re really, really not.” He wrinkles his nose even thinking about it.

Maka stares. “B-but when I— When I k-k-kissed you. I-I thought you—You pushed me away. I-I understand, I’m not— I just— I thought, after that— I thought maybe being your sub would be different enough from d-da-dating you that you wouldn’t m-mind—”

“That’s because you were dropping,” Soul interrupts. “I thought it was just— I thought it would wear off.”

“... What?”

“Because it was a rough scene, I thought maybe— High pressure situations, they make it really hard to—” Soul closes his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. “I forget what it’s called, but when people are put in a stressful situation together, it tends to make them closer— something about confusing stress symptoms for romantic feelings? So I thought that— I thought I’d be taking advantage, if I pushed it during aftercare. Especially since you dropped… um. Dropped really hard.”

He opens his eyes and sees Maka staring up at him. Then, abruptly, she turns on her heel and starts walking away.

“... C-can you text Star? I don’t think he’ll believe me—”

Maka turns back toward him, grabs his wrist, and starts dragging him with her. She pulls out her keys with her free hand.

“— Oh. W-woah, waitwait _wait_ —”

“Wanna keep talking, but not in semi-public with Star and Tsubaki pressing their ears up to the door,” Maka clarifies, and Soul relaxes a little.

“R-right, of course,” he says.

“You don’t have to sound so relieved,” Maka mutters.

“I— I don’t want to rush things,” Soul says defensively. “Look where that got _you_.”

Maka lifts a brow. “I got y-you, didn’t I?” she says, but her blushing gives away her nerves.

“You got _lucky_. There are plenty of assholes—”

“But I got _you_.” Her apartment door clicks open. “Also, I can defend myself, thanks.”

Maka's apartment a messier echo of his and Star’s apartment. Books and papers are strewn across every flat surface, even the ground: Soul has to watch his step as Maka leads him to a couch and haphazardly slings a stack of papers to the coffee table in front of it.

“ _So._ ” Maka sits, dragging Soul down next to her. They face each other, her hand still wrapped around his wrist, but Soul fixes his gaze on their hands. “... I didn’t think I’d get this far,” she admits.

Soul scowls. “You don’t think much, do you,” he grumbles.

“ _Excuse you_ , I’m working on my graduate thesis.”

“That explains the papers.”

They subside into silence. Soul tries to order the questions springing up in his mind.

“Are we dating?” he asks.

Maka’s grip tightens. “I-if you want to,” she says. “You— You and Blair have already been so patient with me, so I get if you don’t want—”

“ _I want to._ ”

“... You won’t look at me.”

Soul blinks at their hands. “I-I’m not used to eye contact,” he admits, but he drags his eyes up her arm to meet her gaze.

Her eyes are a steady green. “Thanks,” she whispers. “You… you’re sure you want me? I’m not forcing you into it?”

“ _Hell no,_ ” Soul says immediately. “No, I… I want you. A lot. More than I’ve wanted anyone, ever. I…” He flinches at the memory of his dream. “I shouldn’t. I’m sorry.”

Maka blinks. “What?”

Another image flickers through his mind. “Did you _know_?”

“Know what?”

“About— About collars. About how much they mean, i-in the community.”

Maka thinks for a moment. “I— I know they’re important,” she finally says. “I thought— I wanted to show you how much I trusted you, and… and it was there.”

The words that he couldn’t say before come flooding out. “Thank you. I— I knew that it was hard, I— thank you. For trusting me. For stopping me.— Wh-why didn’t you— Why’d you change the safewords?”

Maka bites her lip. The motion catches Soul’s eyes, and suddenly he remembers how much he _wants_.

“I— I was scared,” she whispers. “I didn’t— When I thought of r-red— When I thought of the colors, I just heard _you_. S-screaming. I didn’t— I c-couldn’t. I couldn’t use them. I’m sorry.”

Unthinkingly, Soul reaches for her, and she reaches back, leaning into him, twisting to tuck her shoulder against his chest. “You listened,” he says quietly. “That’s what matters.”

“... You’re really not with Blair at all? You don’t… You’re not attracted—”

“No. You— You’re the only person, ever. I’ve never— I _dreamed_ about you, it was— and I wanted to—” Soul shuts up and leans away from Maka, who looks up at him, confused. “I’m— I shouldn’t. I’m sorry, it’s— it’s creepy, and invasive, and— You’re not—”

Maka giggles uncertainly. “Thanks, I think?”

“It— It’s not something you should be thanking me for,” Soul mutters. “Just… basic decency. Don’t fantasize about living, breathing people. It’s not cool.”

“... So you really…?”

“I think you’re v-very pretty and I am, uh. _Very._ Attracted to you. But if I’m gonna see you naked, I want fucking consent, not weird dream shit.”

“You saw me naked?”

Soul hides his face behind his fingers. “I did not,” he grits out, but he remembers how strongly he’d wanted to, how warm her hug had been, how close her lips—

Maka tugs at his wrists. “Hey.”

“Are _you_ sure you want to date me?” Soul groans, but he lets Maka pull his hands from his face.

“I’m sure,” Maka says. “Kiss me?”

“... Okay.”

(His lips are soft.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **((omake like it's 2008))**
> 
>  
> 
> “... By the way, what were you doing with the leather thing?”
> 
> “What?”
> 
> “When we first met, you had a leather thing up in your face. Was that a maintenance thing…?”
> 
> “... I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
> 
> “You said you were doing inventory.”
> 
> “I guess I was doing inventory, then.”
> 
> “It looked like you were jacking off to it.”
> 
> “... Is that why you were, uh. Being rude?”
> 
> “No! I mean— It was a contributing factor. At the time—! I mean, now I know you’re not that kind of person, so…. ”
> 
> “I… guess? I don’t know what to tell you— _mm_.”
> 
> “... Sorry. You’re, um. Very kissable when you’re confused.”
> 
> “... I’m okay with that.”


End file.
